Archer's Moon
by MultipleTrickPony
Summary: I always thought Wolt sort of looked like a dog. Thus, this story...Wolt is a werewolf, but this comes with all sorts of terrible problems along the way. Rated T for violence/blood and language. (If I should change the rating, please say so.) A shipping or two may be conducted. Reviews welcome. Thank you for reading!
1. Scarlet Reveal

Wolt the Werewolf

"The battle will be by night."

The thought sent icy poison through my very veins. A worse night simply _couldn't_ have been picked. I almost wanted to disappear for the night-wake up with blood on my muzzle and death on my claws.

 _Running away is not what a_ man _would do!_ The voice of Lord Eliwood was always deep and masculine, even in my head.

 _You didn't know me after the attack, sir. Things are different. I could hurt my comrades! I could_ kill _them!_ I wish Sue were nearer me. She is so calm and steady.

 _One could argue Roy knows you not also._ Eliwood rumbled. _In fact, no one here knows_ you.

It was true-Roy and I had drifted so far apart since the attack, which had been barely before the war.

 _Wolt, you've been gaining more control these moons. Surely no harm can come if you help._ He'd been like a second father, and this was why his voice advised me inwardly.

 _They have SILVER_. My mother Rebecca had told me tales of werewolves, most ending in brave souls shooting, stabbing, or slicing them dead with weapons of the gray metal. Her stories now brought shivers to my spine and panic in my heart.

I can't leave. I can't stay.

I went to my tent-I share it with Bors, who laughs as much awake as he snores asleep. Sometimes he'll tell scary stories about creatures like me. It is hard to act placid.

One lucky thing about Bors is how deep a sleeper he is. Then it's easy to sneak out of the tent, rush to somewhere quiet and empty. Here is where I howl at my dastardly archer's moon.

In the days before-which was most of my life, honestly-I liked to sit out and watch it. If there were owls, they hooted repeatedly-though often they were away. Hunting, I suppose. The small creatures always chirped and made their scratchy, imperfect noises over and over. When I was small, Mom made it the archer's moon- a light-giving companion, wherever you be and whatever you do as long as you are within her softly glowing sight. She always looked out at her hanging in the eternal black sky with affection. "Beautiful archer's moon."

Everyone is quiet and sleeping-except for the sentries. We are conserving our strength. I yawn and decide to blend in. I nuzzle up to my blankets despite the heat. But choices are chasing me like a shining silver arrow.

It is a dark place before my eyes adjust, just flat black. Then the leaves turn gray, so still, and the trunks are black with silver edges. I feel cold metal in my hand, yet familiar and slender. My bow, and she will give me safety. The archer's moon is up, and though she is unmoving, I know she approves, and will grant me her strength.

I watch myself, and feel a sting of fear. For this night…a night where the moon gives power to more than me…

There's a howl close by, a shuffling in the gray trees, a wall of drab un-color. I am me again, and I want to run-claws scrabbling on the ground-

My boots fly over the black fallen leaves, I am breathing so hard, I never did run well-

Panting, and ragged half-human breathing. I don't know what the creature is, and I _really_ don't want to.

The animal topples into me, I fall like a shot bird, on my face, my arms the broken wings. They are snuffling in my hair. I begin to twist around, using my hands and feeling leaves cold, wet, dead-morbidly thinking _Will I soon be like them?_

I scream-teeth in my shoulder, sharp, sharp and something that is wet but hot meandering down my shoulder-I wish in a panic it'd go faster, that this'd be over quickly, not draw out-I punch the creature wildly. The removal of teeth hurts more, I scream again-I must be so far away to not be heard-and want to once more but am all out when I see the animal. Upright but with silvery-gray fur and clawed _hands_ , wolf ears but a face uncannily human. And teeth that are danger, gleaming in the archer's moon-not fangs anymore, but swords, silver swords. Dieck, Roy, Lance, Zealot holding them aloft-a cloud of silver lances behind. Sue steps forward, nocking a silver bow-

I wake up breathing so fast I am probably blinking in rhythm. Bors came into the tent while I was asleep, still not awake himself.

I should run. Run before they murder me with their moon weapons, run before they turn against me. No…the creature that used to be me, tainting my actions and words in their minds. I get up and seize my bow, slip on my quiver. The sentries won't ask why I'm leaving, I hope.

The sun is setting, a beautiful cloak ripped into strips of oranges, pinks, and yellows. Lugh and Tate are the guards today, but barely look at me once, don't talk about twice as I walk hurriedly into the field of yellow-brown grass. The tree line is where I need to be.

 _The army needs you! STOP!_ Not even my mother's voice, father's or Lord Eliwood's will make me return-return to a place of delicate flesh and the warm, choking taste of blood.

The burning yellow orb is sinking, and soon the merely glowing one will rise. The grass is tall, but the trees are visible by the gray of their trunks and the lack of rustling, possessing silent leaves.

"That's it…Wolt! The attack is NOW!"

I freeze, though there is still noise in the dull blades. She shouldn't…why is she coming back for me?!

"WOLT!" She is drawing nearer. I know her too well.

Sue sees me from atop her horse. "Why are you _here?_ " She grabs my hand. "Ride with me. We need to get going."

"I can't-I have to get to the forest!" Her grip is strong, and that and the blue-black sky remind me too much of the attack, the scars it left in my mind and on my shoulder. I tug, and she looks befuddled-only slightly.

"Wolt, you are no coward. Come." She's using both hands to try hoisting me onto the horse.

"That's not it!" Those words are a lie. "I have to tell you something."

"This is no time for that! We have to _go_." Sue's horse neighs. I feel my feet and ankles getting warmer as fur sprouts from them.

"Sue, I'm a-"

"What's wrong with your hair? It's turning…gray…" Her voice is deadly cool. She lets go of my hand as the nails lengthen into claws. My teeth grow long and sharp. I can't talk for long-the fangs stop me when they get big enough, partially from the threat of having my tongue sliced.

"Were-w-ol…!" I shake my head, my teeth too large. Hunter's teeth. Sue's horse backs up a few paces, tossing her head nervously and snorting often. Sue's eyes are wide, and her horse only stays because she hasn't uttered a command. She hasn't said anything since my hair grayed and sunk low to my skull, turning soft and silky.

The seams of my clothes rip partly as rippling muscles erupt into place. I smell fear, so strong and delicious…

 _No! That's Sue! You_ know _her!_

Something hits me and falls to the ground. A steel arrow. I bare my fangs, growling. I shouldn't let something do that-thinking they can punish me with their weak metal weapons, puny and dull.

 _DON'T attack Sue. Goddamn it, don't attack!_

There is more meat past this field. I smell it, confident and oblivious. Archer's moon feels my anticipation, for a hunt of warmth and tearing.

I howl, my blunt snout finding it hard, my pointed ears back. My claws rip the grass, and I feel such joy at the night breeze as I glide in its current.

 _You're not hurting anyone. Any of my comrades. Just the people in red!_ Red is so painful yet beautiful a color. A color for the hunt, and everything the wolf of me wants. _It_ will not kill them, not make them like me in an existence of night dread and fear. I burst upon our camp, my ears sharp in hearing and detecting their cries, small as the mewl of a pup. I whimper at the clashing of two blades. So jarring to me now.

 _You see? There was nothing to worry about. You can help like you always do!_

I smell horse, the giant carcasses too swift for their own good, and swipe my tongue around my jaws.

 _Wait, that's Sue_.

She's thundering towards me, and I lope along until she draws level, running with them. A silent silver shadow-but she spots me. I let my tongue loll out-docile and dog-like, I hope. She nocks an arrow and takes aim. I grit my teeth, which looks more like I'm about to growl or pounce in this form-but she just stares with her finger on the string.

She lowers her bow.

Defenseless-I want to eat, to feel that water that is life, no matter how choking that water is. I concentrate on my claws skimming the ground. No food tonight-at least, I will kill no one I know.

I look up-there is the blue cape of Roy, the green armor of Lance. A golden-haired comrade with the wide eyes of someone younger approaches, and I see how the archer's moon gleams off his arrows-tipped in silver. I back up, and Klein's gaze darts to me. He's already nocked-Sue is dismounting-I close my eyes. And they snap open. With a snarl I dart out of the way, continuing to growl even as the glinting arrow flies past me.

Sue is moving her hands and mouth a lot, and at first all I hear is garbled and meaningless, squawks and breaths.

"…That's him, I saw it! He won't hurt you, Klein." Sue keeps pointing at me; it is the most frantic I have ever seen her. My claws twitch and I flick one ear. Itchy, I scratch it roughly, then get up on my hind paws.

Sue's horse stamps the ground, looking sweaty with panic. I have eaten creatures seasoned with sweat, chasing them through gray trees and shadowy grass. It always ends with a squeal or a snap. I grin widely at the memory.

 _Is that Roy coming over here?! Quick, stand up straight-_

"You say this is Wolt?" He's making a thinly veiled skeptical expression that I recognize from many times long ago.

"I saw him transform before my very eyes, sir. Surely he passed the sentries on his way out. Why not ask them?" Sue inclines her head toward the fight, voice cool.

"You and Klein will have to substitute for them." He waves them off, a lightning strike of anger crossing his face. Roy casts an eye at me. I sink to all fours, ears back. I sniff the air absentmindedly, eyes widening. I spin around and leap for a shrub slightly behind me. My keen eyes catch red armor and fear overwhelms the wind.

 _Enemy._

I pounce, claws slashing and blood raining around me, refreshing rain, and my teeth sink into his neck. I have closed my eyes, not needing them, and an object hits me but doesn't hurt. _A lance_. He is gasping and keeps trying to hit me with his lance, yet I claw his face and chest as he tries-I catch the lance in my teeth. _CRUNCH._ A last breath leaves him as the iron shards fall as gray snowflakes over a red winter.

I step back, growling at the ravaged corpse for good measure. I walk to Roy with my tongue out and a doggish expression.

He is staring with horror at my silver-gray body, doubtlessly splattered with excessive blood. He eyes the day's sentries next to him-Lugh, yellow robes a little shabby but spotless; and Tate, worried with messy hair and her pegasus' wings folded, looking tired.

"Did you see Wolt leave camp a short time before our departure?" Roy asks sharply.

Tate nods. Lugh is staring at me, frozen except for trembling.

"Lugh!" The lord with red hair snaps his fingers at the sage. I chuckle inside. Roy was always more childish as a kid, but it has faded dramatically. Or so I thought.

I watch Lugh, who nods jerkily. Hopefully my eyes looking comforting and placid instead of murderous and eager. Roy crosses his arms for a few moments.

"I propose a test. We'll all go up to this-this wolf, who is apparently _Wolt_ -" Roy rolls his eyes, and my mouth twinges in annoyance. "-And pet him."

Lugh takes a few seconds, then looks at Roy mutely with an expression of absolute terror. Tate's eyes dart from me to her Pegasus.

"N-no offense, Lord R-roy…BUT ISN'T THAT JUST A _LITTLE_ CRAZY?!" Lugh starts out quiet but erupts, glaring at a highly shocked Roy. "DID YOU SEE-"

Tate rolls her eyes. I breath deeply, then pad briskly over to the arguing boys. I lower Lugh's hand with my snout, then shove my head under it.

He's gone rigid again _._ I just hope this is proof enough. Roy narrows his eyes minutely, but crouches and beckons me over. His deep blue gaze is so trusting-a Roy before the war. I walk toward him, determinedly keeping my mouth shut as his hair reminds me of blood and the taste of the man I killed so viciously. He pats my head.

Lastly is Tate. She tells her Pegasus to stay, and I watch its delicately muscled legs move. My mouth waters, but I shake my head.

 _Soon. Soon you'll have a lot of hunting. Just-hold on._

Tate pets me very hesitantly, then steps back, holding her shoulders and hunching them.

"He will fight with us. I will explain to the others."

Sue's horse sped back to her when I killed the enemy soldier, so only the three and I march to the field of carnage. Of red soldiers, twigs with blood and fear and corpses in the end.

Roy points to the knight being fought by Lance. I nod and run again, leaping at the thick armor and slashing my claws down it. My green-haired comrade gapes, but I sink my teeth into the metal plating and rip it away with squeaks and harsh tears. Now is when he starts screaming. I soon drag him out of the defense by the shoulder, and his armor is redder inside than out, trails and puddles and fresh fingerprints. Lance is still staring, face twisted in disgust and terror, but his horse snorts loudly and he turns to fight another, away from this monster.

I finally sever his throat with precision, a single claw. I quickly scent similar feelings nearby-an enemy swordsman from the artificial tang of his weapon. He isn't looking in my direction, and topples when I pounce at his shoulder, growling. The wolf is fully in control, a hunger not for food barely satisfied. All these humans do is scream, and perhaps that is why it is so satisfying to end it. And they are fountains, so much blood in one frail body…

The archer's moon illuminates the bloody prints I leave behind, looking like strangely elongated fingers due to my claws. They are not as clean and silver as they once were, before acceptance.

I snap my head up to see an enemy paladin, faceless to me, charging with a lance. I jump with my jaws open-

Just to see the gleaming metal on the lance's tip.

And this time it hurts. I howl in agony, with my own life-water pouring out, the staff stuck in my chest. My downy fur crusted over by almost auburn topography.

"He's here-"

A hand reaches toward me. I barely see it through swiftly blurring vision, and it smells too much of people, too clean, a tiny instrument capable of such pain-I bite, fast but immersing my teeth.

"ELLEN! Oh my god, Wolt bit you-" _Saul._

 _Holy SHIT. Ellen?!_

"Saul, we need to heal him, he's worse off than me-look at that lance-"

"But-"

"FUCKING DO IT!" _I've never heard Ellen swear. I've given her suffering, such suffering. I let myself get away…_

I feel the warmth of healing, but it is very faint and stops fast.

"What the-? Why did you stop? WHY DID YOU STOP, SAUL?!"

"I don't think it works…on werewolves." I hear a gulp. "When they're wolves."

"Then _how_ are we going to save him?!" _Ellen's hysterical. Oh my god…and if I bit her…_

"Why do you want to save him, he FUCKING BIT YOU!"

 _Saul's a priest…Priests swear?_

"He's still part of our army. He's still our comrade. He just looks a little different. We pledged to heal this army, and he is part of it." Though Ellen sounds steady, I can hear her shaky breaths.

"Morning is close. He'll make it." Surprisingly, Saul speaks.

"Morning?"

"Werewolves turn back in the morning."

 _Yes…back. I want to go back._

 _Before…this night…no._

 _Before the attack, when the archer's moon was a beautiful thing._


	2. The Vote

The Vote

I twitch.

Vague noises drift to me, like flickering candle flames or fast-beating bird wings. They all are only snatches. I know I am dying, slowly. Or moderately. Most likely I will bleed to death, unable to call for help because there is none for me.

I think my wolf half is unconscious or panicking, so it's easy to think by myself in the terribly agonizing blackness. If I let myself stop I may stop entirely.

Another twitch, but a familiar one. A weak spurt of hope bubbles up inside me. I shiver as my body gets colder, fur disappearing. My mouth doesn't feel so full anymore as my teeth shrink and dull. My feeling of detachment does not decrease, and dimly I can picture my changes from all the times I ever have.

The sounds are louder, and suddenly I am so overheated I would itch my hair frantically if I wasn't too exhausted to move my arm.

I feel a pleasant sensation, a tickling one, on my chest. The dead weight that was the lance grows lighter and lighter. I blink, then open my eyes.

"I don't think all of the lance is gone. We'll still have to pull it out." Ellen is peering down at me, her brown hair messy and swinging around in idle, mismatched strands.

"Wolt, bite on this." Ellen hands me what appears to be dirty leather ripped from a boot. Reluctantly I put it between my teeth, comfortingly square and normal.

I look up at the sky, gray with morning. The sun sits glowing and harshly yellow. A better friend than the moon?

Pain attacks me again, my eyes widening and instinctively biting the boot. My hands strangle the grass, some of which is uncomfortably sticky or has too much crumbly texture.

"Stay calm." Sue's steady voice comes from above me. I close my eyes hard.

Another wave of warmth, and I drop the boot and begin to spit frantically to get out the horrid taste. My eyes anchor to Ellen, who is holding the lance. I shiver. Strangely, a good three inches are missing from the front, including the deadly silver tip. Her right hand is entirely bandaged up.

"I'm really sorry." These first words are right. Ellen looks at me, then nods with a sad smile.

"In case you wondered, we used both our healing staffs at the same time. Worked wonders, right?" Saul is half-trying not to look at me, but his sharp gaze darts there anyway.

"Thank you." I dip my head. Saul returns it with a tiny nod, while Ellen nods much deeper. "You're welcome. You are part of our army, Wolt, and _that_ is who we serve." She pierces Saul with a gaze for short moments.

I withdraw my arms to under me and hoist my body upward. When my sight drops to the grass, nausea bombards me and I barely have time to whip my head to the side and vomit out what little food my stomach has.

Ellen grimaces a bit, but draws a blank curtain across it swiftly. Saul mangles his face in disgust. I notice Sue looking calm as usual. I breath a sigh of relief at her lack of change. Is it too quiet for her to notice?

"BACK TO CAMP!" Someone yells, and I manage to get my boots under me, trying to ignore my bloodstained hands and face. The grass is stiff from my life pouring out in memories and helplessness with an icing of pain so far from sweet.

"How are you?" Sue's horse draws alongside me, swinging their head peacefully.

I want to give the short answer. The one where I'm a loyal archer. The composed one.

"I'm-" A cruel breeze meanders past, worming into my clothes through the holes my wolf muscles tore. "- _Not_ all right."

Sue smiles. "Good words as any."

"Are you…aren't you scared?"

"Of what?" She looks at me-down, really. "I'm walking alongside my friend on a pleasant day."

"I meant-weren't you scared…?"

"I knew what you were." A pause. The army walks casually, but there is a certain briskness in their paces. _Especially_ in front of Sue and I. "After all, one is only afraid of the unknown."

I stand on tiptoe to lean over to Sue. "The others are walking faster." The realization lowers me. "They think I'll bite them."

"Isn't that unknown also? Your mind, your thoughts?"

I pat the horse's flank. "I guess. Even to me, sometimes."

Sue nods, dark eyes led to the distance by a faraway hill. I never noticed, but her hair swings when she nods, in forest-colored waterfalls, changing in subtle ways with shadows and sunlight.

"We shall rest in camp today. Tomorrow we set out." Roy shouts. My eyelids flicker with tiredness and my hair wilts flatly, green already and with color like dark leaves that shake with warning in the night.

I hear the rickety wheels of the food delivery cart and slither out of my tent. I have been there since we returned from last night's area. Bors is off somewhere, as I haven't seen him all day.

In line I wind up behind Lance.

"Do you know what today's meal i-?" I ask, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns his head to see me, eyes quickly bursting with fear. He walks forward as much as he can and says nothing.

"Can't you smell it, werewolf?" Growls Tate behind me. I myself step forward.

Finally I reach the cart itself, delight that these people know not of what I am coursing through me. The man is smiling and hands me the normal fare, and I nod to him. "Thank you!"

I hear the next person in line-Tate-speak to the food man. "Don't trust him, sir. He kills. For _fun._ "

"What? Him?"

I walk faster.

The tent is quiet and my bow makes good company. Even if my crumbs attract insects, I'll be far less lonely…What peculiar thoughts run through the minds of the hated…

"So, Bors, this is your tent?"

"Are you kidding me? No! I'm not sleeping in the same tent as a filthy blood-loving wolf, I'm in Oujay and Shin's."

"Hey, Wolfie, howl for us!"

I huddle in the corner, arms around my knees.

Suddenly, there is pounding on the tent from all sides. I try to stay low, but teeter forward as a fist connects with my shoulder. The angry flock is relentless, and I hear a _crack_ as a pole supporting the tent breaks. Fear scoops me up and squeezes, so I seize my bow and quiver. After short fumbling with the exit, the tent beginning to fall upon me, I dash out, prey I have pursued that zigzagged, squeaking in fear but tripping over devious rocks smooth and unfeeling.

They pounce on me, and I fall hard, my nose stinging.

"A killer and a coward? I don't know why Roy lets you stay." Bors says smoothly but laced with hate enough to make my fear accelerate.

"Don't you know? Roy was friends with him before the war." A person who tackled me says with a sneer.

"Always was unskilled." I remember him saying 'good job' when I dispatched two dragon riders a few weeks ago. In my head I curse them all, viciously. Mom would be upset enough to lecture me, a rarity due to her blunt and adventurous nature.

"I suggest we keep him down awhile. Knock him around so the wolf can't hurt any soldier?" The one directly above me asks-it's Alan, the cavalier with hair a slightly deeper red than Roy's. Bors only grunts in agreement.

"Why are you attacking your campmate like that?" Comes a deep, sharp voice, and the weight on my back disappears. I look up and try keeping a straight face against joy.

It is Dieck, scarred and fierce. His mouth is twisted angrily.

"He's-sir, he _bit_ Ellen! Her hand'll take weeks, how's she gonna manage when-" Bors spouts, eyebrows down so far they threaten to overpower his eyes.

"Ellen's left-handed, and that was yesterday." Dieck glares at him-Bors steps back, but still looks angry. "You can't hurt Wolt for a once-a-month abomination." A flash of gratitude occurs when he uses my name. How is Dieck so level and practical while Lance is afraid and skittish? Maybe he is too connected with that horse of his…

Bors and his gang leave, muttering and shooting sword-sharp gazes at me.

"Thank you, Dieck!" I get up and try not to look too messy.

"Telling truth is far better than spinning lies so uncouth." I stare at him. "Something my father said, archer." He waves me off.

The rescue's remainder is a smile and an extra energy in my step. I even whistle, though quietly and with frantic eyes checking surroundings for watchers.

"Wolt!" I stop and snap my feet together. Lord Roy approaches without cape nor delight. "My tent. Follow."

The happiness drips away in melancholy sprinkling. I'm about his height nowadays, and he looks a lot smaller de-caped. His tent is blue but must be a royal tent-its fabric is stretched and old, mere netting in some places.

He closes the tent very carefully. I stoop, expression blank.

"Wolt, I have concluded the army shall decide about you." He sits, smiling despite his serious tone, and indicates I can take a seat. It brings back memories, old ones buried by blood. I nod, an empty feeling rearing its head, yet only the ears visible.

"You can still ask questions." He says teasingly. Roy looks so odd, as though trying to cram a child's carefree face into an old man's world-weary one.

"Well." I feel the corners of my mouth tugged up slightly. "Decide what, exactly?"

The child vanishes. He is only elderly now, gaze down. "Decide to let you stay."

The empty feeling explodes up, and my eyes widen. "Why not you?"

"We are-were…friends for so long. I'm afraid my judgement will be…clouded." Roy's blue eyes change from a deep river to watery stream or barely blue puddles as he breaks his sight from the ground. _That's good!_ I want to say. _Clouded judgement-don't you see? I_ should _stay because people care!_ Sue appears before me in a captured moment of a true smile, where she sheds her cocoon of calm. For so few people.

I know that Roy is good. He's wise, wise enough to make the right decision. I hate the idea. But I know that this, this terrible plan, is the correct choice.

I take a deep breath and exhale. Finally, I nod.

In a wind-quick moment Roy has flung himself at me in a hug. I'm so off guard I fall onto my back.

Roy is very warm, and we both blink at each other. His face is very close to mine, and his breath is uncomfortably thick. I am ice, slowly melting to movement. Roy has his hands under my back. _That must hurt_. I think slowly. One more blink.

I squirm a little, and Roy turns a very potent shade of red. He pulls his hands out from under me and hoists himself up, then back a short way. I'm burning up too, flames creeping up my face, and my dense hair prickles.

"Um…sorry." Roy mutters, staring at the side of the tent. "It's just…you know…this may be the last time I see you." He shivers. The tent is very stuffy.

His words part when they find me, a river around a rock drenched by its might. Despair and embarrassment meld, one slowly leaving.

"Yeah." I shake my head and begin to open the tent flap. Roy's silence is somehow more concentrated than the other quiet.

I cannot return to my tent. The people here are angry. They are more wolves than I this day.

I walk in a half-crouch, darting behind tents. Why must I act like the enemy in my own home?

 _Because you_ are _the enemy here. And this place is no home._

Finally I come to the tent with a leaf, dying and ragged, tucked in a hole. The material is too thick to see her, even a dark reflection. I swish the tent flap back and forth as a replacement knock.

"Yes?" Sue is there, like always, and my face shines though my heart is empty. I barge into the tent.

"SUE!" The single star-no, the sun, glowing and calling for attention in the blank, starless sky. Her clothes are smooth when I hug her.

There was a smile pushing its way in past the steady gates, but Sue shoots it down in moments.

"Wolt, what's wrong?"

"Well…" I pull back, and the despair streams in again, beating out happiness so easily. "Roy is going to have the army decide whether I should stay or not-something about feelings and judgement-" Sue is watching me keenly.

"Won't they keep…?" Her voice is not made for lying. It falters with inexperience. "We will see."

I search her dark eyes for something other than the truth, yet they do not have it. Her cool personality is a two-ended arrow that swings perilously, the metal glinting and polished. It's only a question of who receives what, and I have dodged obliviously for too long.

"LYCIA ALLIANCE ARMY!" Roy's voice carries, and the sorrow that's only anticipation surfaces. I want to stay.

Sue puts her hand on my shoulder.

Roy appears nervous, if you look closely. The shuffling feet, the mouth barely an inch off, eyebrows down a fraction. Hiding yourself is what royalty does. Or tries.

"We're here for a vote." He's mastered the voice-level and definite. "To decide the fate of Wolt." He glances past his shoulder but doesn't add on. They all know _why_.

"This will be simple." If he just keeps talking, he thinks he can get through it. I decide to join, his words my spiderweb. I dance around them, trapping them with elegantly with cases so tight. I cannot let go. "All those who wish him to stay on my right. If you hope for his departure-" Roy pauses, and I catch his hand twitching. "On my left."

I have no idea where to stand, so I stay in place, a vacant face like a new soldier worn. The fluttering of feet stop, and I close my eyes.

I look up from the grass that's had too many steps. I open them.

A few stand on my left. Dieck, Sue, someone I don't recognize with spiky hair and an axe at his side. Ellen is in front of Roy, only slightly towards my supporters. I notice her holding her right hand.

Here, alone, the realization stabs me. _This will happen to her too, won't it? After me, will they really have it in them to harm her…?_

"Wolt, they…you can see."

It is so easy, so quick, so efficient. I turn around, arms hanging without the blood. They may as well be dead…

"Lord Roy, the one you accuse is scarcely here! How can you judge a man by a monster he barely is?!" Dieck says, an accusing outburst.

"The army decided, Dieck."

"But it was-"

"Your campmates have divided and that division is unequal."

I can almost hear the clank of scales tipping, tipping so dramatically.


	3. A Decision of Belonging?

"Wolt. Your bow." Roy is holding out his hands, blue armor shimmering in the merciless sunlight.

 _The moon is softer. Despite her cruelty…_

"What?!" I grip my bow, holding it away from Roy.

"It was bought-" He trembled, though the movement is miniscule. "Bought with the army's money. We'd like it back, Wolt."

"Let me get it-" Bors growls, striding towards me. He half-shoves Roy out of the way. I gasp inwardly. Bors had used to barely be so rude-it was teasing at best. Perhaps he'd possessed stores of anger boundless, and just needed a target to shoot it at. Rage-filled arrows piercing me from all sides.

He puts his hands on my wrist and grabs the bow. I stifled an urge to kick him _very_ hard. He hesitates with his armored hand hovering above the sharp arrows in my light brown quiver.

"He made the arrows himself." Roy fibs quickly. "The quiver is also his." He points decisively back at the half-circle of soldiers surrounding me. "Back, Bors."

The knight glares at him for almost a second, then stomps back, between Shin and Oujay. _His new tentmates_. I remember bitterly.

Roy takes a step toward me, dropping his gaze to the ground, though his head is almost straight down with the small space between us. "This is the farewell." He murmurs.

"You could have let me stay!" The urgent whisper slides out of me.

"Wolt, you're smart. You know…this was the _right_ thing." I didn't know Roy's voice could be so quiet. He walks away, though for a moment, his large eyes find mine and the wind takes his final words to me.

"No matter how much pain it makes me feel."

I watch him go without a blink and begin to trudge. Roy has his hand over his eyes, and I think everyone knows silent rivers flow out of them, leaving his hand like I have left. Bors' gang watches me suspiciously-I can almost hear their growls and see the sun rebound off their sharp teeth.

There is a frozen moment when one more step takes me out of their semi-circle. A fierce emotion demands my attention, yelling at me not to leave. I close my eyes and think of who will stay. Roy. Sue. Dieck. Ellen. My bow. Tears threaten to leak out. I don't let them, not now, I cannot show my weakness in front of those who want me wounded, want me dead, want me to collapse in a shower of salt rain so they can laugh.

I step, and time continues again.

Someone grabs my shoulder and I turn my head in surprise. Sue swoops in gently, kissing my cheek. She smiles sadly at my confusion-the last time I see it, though the fierce beast in me shouts no. She walks away with her shoulders up and her hands to her face. As my sight follows her it notices Ellen. A look of fear is carved deeply into her face. She thinks this will happen, history repeating itself. I shake my head slightly at her and face the tall, golden grass ahead. The world may as well be a rock for how much it moves-except my eyes. They cannot stop, eyelids fluttering rapidly.

I wonder if any of them watch as I push past yellow-brown blades and skinny stalks. I feel empty, in sharp contrast to the field. The woods I tried to reach last night are full of pine trees. The needles are squishy and rust-colored under my feet. The forest stubbornly shows no sign of autumn.

My tears fall onto already damp ground. I take two steps, then fall myself. The droplets' journey to the ground takes less and less time, until I am lying on my stomach with pine scent engulfing me. It is quiet but for my sobs.

The nature-rich smell is one of defeat, and I roll onto my back to avoid it. The sky's brightness is dimmed by the trees carving and slicing it. My eyes are dry and drained. I hear a _crack_ and realize a bunch of my arrows have been snapped. Quickly I remove my quiver.

I have no bow. What use are they?

 _You could throw them. Anything sharp can be helpful._

 _Food._ I sit up sharply. The meal from camp won't last too long. I need a plan.

I close my eyes and remember hunting back home. _Where there is food, there is prey. Look for plants, y'know, stuff the little animals eat. Besides, if the worst happens, you can always eat what they do!_ Mom always ruffled my hair at that. She firmly believed I wouldn't ever get lost or desperate.

Dad had known more about plants-like what to eat-than Mom. Food was covered, more or less. I slip the quiver on. I stand, stretching toward where the sun lives. A large tree will do.

I haven't walked far before I find a big one. There's definitely enough space under there to sleep. I grab an arrow half and mark an X on the trunk and a few thick branches. Now I realize-water. The most important, and already a faint thirst rests in my throat. Readjusting the strap of my quiver, I walk again.

I don't even find puddles. The sky is slowly changing, getting lighter with orange. Or is it darker? A peculiar color.

Instead I decide to head back and look for food. My hopes are sinking from their high when I found the tree, like the sun now departing and leaving darkening sky.

As my eyes scan the ground frantically, I think I see something Dad would've called edible. I quickly pick it and throw it in my mouth, chewing and ignoring the taste. My hunger persists after the swallow, though I know it will subside soon. I pick most of it and eat them quickly.

The night is in power and thickly flecked with stars. I squint at a large tree, eyelids almost closing. An X in the shadows? With a shrug I crawl under it, taking off my quiver but looping the strap around my wrist. Under the dry needles of the sky and over the damp pine leaves of the earth, I curl up tight.

I awake with an irresistible urge to vomit and quickly do, some of it falling onto my shirt. I shiver, grimacing. I stand and stretch thoroughly, yawning slightly. My arms brush the branches. They whisper back in protest.

Parting the spiky twigs, I find no X on it anywhere. My heart drags down my mouth, the anchor of my pumping, moving ship. My stomach growls loudly.

 _Apparently not edible._ I shrug, but my spirits are still low. No other arrows seemed to have snapped in the moon-time. _Will my death occur here?_ I think miserably. I begin to walk, to ward such thoughts away with every step. I shiver a little; it's cold out. In the army we could huddle. They sometimes even had jackets, or scraps we could use for scarves.

I trip over something gnarled and my hands fall harshly onto a prickly object. The tripper was a huge beauty of a tree that jutted from the normal-its leaves were thin and flat, changing into sunset colors, hues of blood, shades of dirt. A few had twirled and drifted to the ground. The prickly thing was a nut of some kind. The tree was probably planted by people, and I notice a few similar trunks behind it, the rusty needles overlapped by a thin scattering of the large leaves. It was terribly odd to have just a few…

For now, I should focus on the nut. Food, the mere thought, makes me want to drool. I had always hated drooling, and suppressed trembles.

I take an arrow half and hold the nut carefully. Before I can hesitate I bring the point down. I had stabbed a hole, and made another before attempting to pry it open. The two halves fall on either side.

The 'meat' inside is delicious, though I think anything would be at this point. My thirst suddenly wails for attention. I find three more nuts at the base of the biggest tree, and I stop counting the others at ten. My hunger feels only vaguely satisfied after them. I need food. I need water. I need people. I need _something._ I need anything!

My head snaps up. The neigh of a horse? I get to my feet shakily and run towards where I thought the wind howls stronger. My stomach aches with hunger and my lungs gulp in air. My throat itches with thirst. Yet…were the trees thinner? I walk now, slowly, the light bleeding past dark trunks. Golden. A blinding color after the shaded world of stoic pillars.

It's the field, the stalks unstirred. I stand as high as I can, shading my eyes.

Nothing.

The army has moved.

I blink dazedly. I lumber through the field, which becomes a dull impression of gold as my eyes adjust. My clothes reject their touch and cling desperately to me.

There was the spot where the sentries stood. There is a smell, an aftereffect, that seems to indicate people were once. The grass lies flat and half-dead from the tramplings of weighty feet. A slightly horsey smell lingers over everything.

Blue. A deep, almost indigo blue.

I squint. That _must_ be a hallucination-it's my thirst and hunger and shock. I step closer, dropping into a vague crouch.

There is something there-a piece of Roy's cape, watery like tears and blue like the sea. I skitter closer and poke it. Something soft. It's tied up, with the knot against the ground. I snatch it up and unwrap it.

My stomach leaps in celebration. There are sandwiches and even an apple. They must have expected me to come quickly. I devour the apple first, licking up all the juice it sprays and nibbling as close to the core as possible. The sandwiches are just as good, maybe better, and I remind myself to eat slowly or risk this morning's happenings.

I sit back, full enough to last for at least another day. Something in the cloth catches my eye. It's a bottle-for alcohol, with a cork and green glass. It's about half full of water.

I did not know I could get much happier. I drink all of it, setting it down carefully. I can use it in the future, I realize. _Like all the food! You are_ highly _lacking in experience_ , _Wolt!_ Lord Eliwood says irratibly.

I smack my forehead at my stupidity. _OF COURSE!_ My eyes follow the cape piece's edge and narrow. It isn't just a piece of the cape.

It's the _whole_ cape.

And paper flutters white in it.

The words are careful and precise, yet with a little flourish here and there, seeming to be thrown at random letters inconsistently. Roy's.

 _To Wolt…_

 _Sue, Dieck, and I composed this package for you, hoping you will find it. We all wish death will overlook you, as I know how inept you are at woodland survival._ I snort loudly, but a part of me agrees. _None of our little band of supporters wanted you to leave-be it by your usefulness or the sweet friendship you offer. We would rather you never go. Perhaps we shall get these to you at the end of our next stay. Wishes of life-_ They had all signed their names. Roy's Y had a small loop on the end, but was otherwise strangely rigid. Sue's script flowed, a Sacean wind. Dieck's was jagged, his calloused swordsman's hands unused to the delicate manipulation of the ink and its carrier.

 _We would rather you never go_.

I folded up the paper and dropped it in my quiver, along with the bottle, wrapped up in the cape. I let the wind toss my hair half-heartedly.

 _We would rather you never go._

 _Perhaps we shall get these to you at the end of our next stay._

Follow.

I had figured it out. I wasn't going to stay in this barren forest. I would follow them!

Never would I be alone! Receiving food, hearing from friends, listening to their scattered snores-helping them fight, even. Discreetly and shadow-like. The shadow of the Lycia army! Is that what they'd call me? A legend or a night campfire tale? What am I to become?

 _To be something, you have to first do something._ I think, old words of my childhood. Fire fills my legs, a joy in them, bouncing and spreading everywhere else. I speed off, the wolf I half am, thundering over and through what the moon and I own.


	4. A Daughter of Sorts

I was slogging through dry grass, trying to keep my head down while the sun cooked it. I could almost smell the tang of fire above me, trickling down from the top of my green hair. My thoughts were meandering among topics, drifting to a different thread every time I tried consciouslythinking.

Ahead, somebody laughed.

 _I wonder how Ellen's doing._ I felt empty with hunger and thirst. My feet dragged on, over and over without thought or leaving the itchy stalks. _Well, she hasn't_ really _changed yet. There's that._ Yesterday, I think it was, I killed a little bird, dark-feathered and delicate, with a hardly noticeable beak. I held it so the sun would do-something, cook it or dry it or... _somehow_ make it edible. It was warm when my teeth sunk into it, but peculiar-tasting and bonier than anything I've eaten before. I hate warm autumn days. _First transformations...terrible. I remember mine..._ I was a vessel in my own body, someone-something else seizing my emotions and thoughts barely after I registered fear and shock. I was in my room, thinking worried war thoughts that me tremble, when I felt a violent twinge-everything happened at once. Ears climbing upwards, watching the hair on my arms shoot up and lighten, my gnawed to the stump nails growing to a final point. I was horrified and opened my mouth to scream-but it was clogged with huge fangs and did not respond. The air came alive with scents-my wild musk, the soft wood, the pale yellow candle's smoke drifting to the sky. _Get out, get out_ and leaping through the window, my body sliding through the glass cleanly, shardless. His hunger gushed in flames through blood I did not own, and I, the cowering prisoner, only fear making up my being.

I stopped, eyes widening in comprehension. _The army doesn't know that -oh God, she's going to be with people when she changes!_ I started to run, like I could accomplish something with it, outspeed time and the Archer's Moon. The lightness of hunger becomes a lightness of my feet, and I needed to catch up with them, at least, at the _very_ least-

Now I make myself small, tucking in my limbs. The moon, my devious yet lovely mistress, the sky on the edge of the circle she alights deep blue-black. And close to her, the indistinct cloud of gray.

Tomorrow will be the night. I can tell by the soft indent an unpracticed eye would miss. An eye that belongs to one who hasn't had to stare at the orb of death and beauty, anxiety and a desperate need to flee bubbling up within them.

Over the uncountable days, blending together, stirred by autumn winds or their chilly rains, I made my plan. Ellen will be safe. Sue will be safe. The army will be safe.

Will I be safe? The thought plagues me, yet...I try to forget. I have found, however, my memory has trouble letting go.

I am in camp, squinting into the night on guard duty. A pair of gray eyes blinks at me from the shadows cast by tree foliage. I stare, dropping my bow in fear. It leaps out at me, and the same wave of terror and a scent like night and animal, but unsettlingly off, hits me with the same force of the werewolf barreling into me. I notice a black streak on its back leg I had missed in the other relivings of this moment that gives no sleep.

And then I am watching, a bird with slow wings of cloud. Below is camp-familiar brown tents, not a single fold in the stretched fabric. Rows mishappen and each following a different line.

Ellen pauses. Saul walks toward her. Suddenly her head whips toward the moon and her ears seem to prick. Her brown hair reddens and retracts into her skull. Her rapidly extending claws shine with red light from nowhere. She is a blood red blur as she tears at Saul's arm, and I, cloud-bird, have no eyes to close...

The moon is sinking into paling earth when I awake, sweat only partially from heat. My pupils are constantly covered by tired lids, and the sun is shadowing distant trees by the time I give in.

The itchy reed grass I trampled to sleep on don't help my comfort. I get up, brushing some of the dry fragments off my clothes where they determinedly stick. Another day of movement-and a night, too. If I have it in me, Ellen won't kill tonight.

A cautious glance above the beige-white stalks reveals they have moved on. The constant rumble of food want is so common now I ignore it. These days my frame has thinned, slender, effective, and often underweight. My face lost everything it didn't need, at times seeming to cling desperately to my bones.

The cloud-crowded gray sky gives me a rush of hope. My quiver will be heavy by night's beginning.

I can't run as long as I could in the army, but I quickly catch up to the leisurely army. I know Roy's method-run fast every three days, keep the army's energy up and make it last.

I find it hard to believe how long they take to get somewhere. Before, occupied with cheery company and the bloodshed ahead, they seemed to take days. Now each day is a month, with all the hunger of one and more.

Ahead I spot trees, half-bare but possibly having food. The hot day yesterday will probably be the last for months. I dash into them, spotting a dismal-looking specimen in the back with small dark shapes peppering the ground among its roots. Even if it may be a little foolish, I take all I can find.

During the trek through the tall grass, loud and crackly, eating every other day was roughly the schedule. My throat seems constantly parched. I shiver from the piercing breeze cutting through the little forest. I live sunrise to sunrise, rest to rest, food to food. The future isn't now. and now is my worry.

There are times I roll in my despair, who can sometimes be my only friend. It happens in night- during my mindless following, of the army-while eating whatever I've acquired that day. Perhaps someday, after a long stretch where the ground and my stomach are barren, I will fall to my knees and die before I meet the dust and become it myself.

But the promise of food and contact-however distant-is why I go on. Perhaps something hopes I will see Sue and Roy again. That I can fight again instead of this, a pitiful stray dog shadowing a rich man who has no wish for it.

The forest's vibrant colors are dimmed by the wolf-colored heavens and down from them I feel a single drop.

Excitement flaring within me, I take out my glass bottle and hold it out, my tongue a mimic.

I withhold from skipping, jumping, or whooping, but a wide smile stretches from ear to ear, feeling strange on my thin face.

The bottle is gaining a substantial amount, water higher than skimming the base. My eyes squint against the rain, spattering my clothes with dark color. My throat no longer aches and screams.

The night approaches, and I tingle with anticipation. The sentries could spot me at any moment and charge. Shin-bad-and Klein-allegiances unknown. Doubts pound the wall my mind has made to protect the plan from reluctance. Despite my slight hunger, I feel much more content than I have the past month, even sitting down. I repeat the plan to myself over and over.

A different kind of tingle, and I stand up as quietly as I can. Slowly the autumn cold vanishes, my teeth elongate and gnash, I can scent the slight fear on the guards. A loud, wild howl echoes from within the fortress of tents. I withdraw slightly, the low-pitched noise piercing my heart with a sliver of terror despite its familiarity. I, too, tip back my head.

The moon hears my cry and grants my wish. The noise from camp stops abruptly, then come rustlings and heavy breathing. I run further in, howling again, the trees watching with only whispers.

The grass behind me is being trampled and sprinted over. I dig my claws into the ground, then push off, hearing her-the werewolf, I mean-burst from the trunks toward me.

She-I cannot deny it in the end-is snapping her fangs and sucking in air with intensity of the dying. It almost sounds like she foams at the mouth. _First transformation. Poor Ellen..._

I feel the wind from her claw's slash and whirl to face her. She leaps, aiming for an eye-I duck and she tears my ear instead. Growling, I let the moon's son take over.

I swipe with my claws over and over, catching her nose, her shoulder. She replies with a ferocious claw attack which scores rips in my clothes, grazing flesh. I catch her retreating paw with my fangs, and she struggles, squirming. The attempts worthless and more blood bubbling up from under my fangs, she whimpers and steps back as much as my teeth hold allows. Slowly I release her.

She appears to have taken me as leader-for now, at any rate. My ear stings strongly, and the shallow wound aches weakly but sharply. She's worse off than me, keeping her weight off the hurt paw, wincing occasionally.

I blink, then gesture at the roots of a near tree. She pads over and sits down hesitantly. Her eyes are wide. I slowly step forward, then again, then again. She has even lowered her head to her paws with closed eyes. I wonder what it's like to sleep as a werewolf. What do we dream of?

Tonight I smell prey-scents riding the wind, serene in sleep. I lick my chops and narrow in on one. My claws, speeding over the ground, practically itch to rip something. _Really_ rip something. My face will bathe in blood and my mouth will collect it in a glistening pool that leaks from my fangs. The scent is strong enough to light up my eyes, make my paws dance and flex. The moon strikes a brown pelt, backlighting tall ears. I watch it silently for moments, the scent alone feeding me.

Now is the time!

I explode out from the trees, smooth and almost silent. A squeak of fright and it dashes for a burrow-I cut it off, snarling, and slice its back harshly. Another squeal, and it is off running again, slow and painfully. I bound over the short grass, bitten to the ground or in tall groups isolated. The sounds-the grasses scraping against each other, the terrified, high-pitched noises of the prey. Its short limbs pumping. My quiet, unnaturally even breath.

Right in front of me.

I make a final pounce, seizing its head in my jaws. It won't stop its squeaks or squirming-the wolf, so in power, feels a deadly happiness at slowly crushing its skull.

A single swipe along its neck, for the hell of it mostly, as life was already leaving it. Leaving it to come to me. I think, as if from far away, or from Archer's moon calling down toward the earth, that I would normally be nauseated by the blood spreading around it. By its slashed throat pouring out and its eyes slightly reflecting the moonlight. Now-I howl. Fueled by blood of the hunt. Fueled by the lightning within me.

 _Ellen! Check back!_ Wolt's voice-not like this one-commands with power, a bravery I believe he so little displays. I toss my head and smell. Even the dirt beneath me feels more alive, like it pulses and wriggles beneath my scarlet claws. Prey: for the moon, she says, I may hunt her lesser children, or the dwellers of sunlight she gives not a care for.

I embark at a quick pace, smelling often for the musk of werewolf and adjusting course. The scent is not as strong as I expected, but is probably blanketed with the clear scent of cold or the natural one of trees.

My sharp eyes recognize this place-the clearing where two creatures of the moon fought. And hurt without feeling. I become uncomfortably aware of my pained ear.

There is no one curled up in the tree roots.

I suddenly stand still, smelling deeply. A scream sounds from camp's direction.

 _She's hungry!_ I squeeze my eyes shut. I know what will happen if I don't make it. The wind streams around and under me in the rare moments my murderer's paws all leave the ground.

The tang of life-water hurtles through my nostrils and I burst out upon the clearing. Shin and Klein are gone from their posts-I determinedly make my eyes avoid the ground. _The blood is in camp. Not here._

"KLEIN! SHOOT HER, GODDAMMIT, SHOOT HER!" Roy is clutching a claw wound-relief passes over me-and slumping against a tent. His breathing is shallower than it should be.

Ellen is in the center of camp, eyes empty but for bloodlust, her nauseatingly soaked claws holding a struggling Lugh. His muddy yellow robes are spattered, and he is trying to reach for a tome. I snarl and charge, knocking into Ellen. Lugh sliders out of her grasp, wincing as her claws scrape him.

She slashes me across the face, and I pause from pain. She doesn't hesitate, grabbing my shoulder in her teeth-the scarred one the black-streaked werewolf bit. I begin to whimper, energy dropping and slumping to the ground. The wolf in her, so violent.

"NOW!" A bow string releases, and the arrow's tip matches werewolf fur...

 _Silver._ I flail, my claws nicking her skin. She will not let go, and has turned me to face the arrow's path. The wolf easily takes over my conciousness with ease while I fade. My ferocity awakens-I snap and bite and snarl, and finally Ellen releases me when I score a nasty cut down her upper lip. I zip out of the way of the arrow, which heads for Ellen. She looks up-

And clenches the piece of wood between her jaws. Her eyes widen and I smell singed hair-she spits it out and eyes it with distaste, then lifting her head with its bizarrely familiar human nose. The army around her back up, fear posessing them.

Werewolves cannot smell silver. We have to rely on our gray or yellow-eyed sight. I see another arrow and duck.

The other werewolf-not a fellow, or kin in my eyes-hovers over Lugh again, his eyes scared but hands automatic, weaving the way for a spell. His mouths to, without him, like the well-practiced tongue and repeated signs were hastily glued on a picture. Fire that pulsates an unnatural yellow storms at Ellen, burning her flat snout and completely decimating some delicate fur. She falls backward-an arrow flies toward her-

Ellen, die?! My mind struggles with such a sheer non-occurence-

Saul throws himself in the way, arrow stabbing his elbow. He swears indistinctly and rapidly, his healing staff out in seconds and disabling view of the injury. He glares determinedly at Ellen.

And jumps on her back.

In another world this could've been funny, doubled up the army under glowing dark gray sky. Instead Saul has his fingers dug into her back, while she tries twisting her head around.

My limbs give out and I flop red-silver onto the grass, some of it browning. _What time is my death?_ I think dazedly. The others are too stunned by Saul to take notice of me. Ellen snaps her jaws around and charges toward me. I somehow get my shaky feet under me.

I feel like I'm watching myself, the cloud-bird from the dream, my wolf eyes with a human spark in them dull and faded. Ellen running, mouth back, tossing her head and snarling. Saul raising his healing staff, a foot scrapping the ground as the werewolf pitches.

She veers sharply away from me. The priest had knocked the positive rod hard against the side of her head, disorienting her. I begin to amble unsteadily back to the trees out of camp. I yip when something hits my nose-physically, and with a strong, somewhat herbal scent. Medicine for later...and my shadow is cast backwards by the pale lady hovering past midnight.

My body feels empty, drained. I've lost a lot of blood, blood that still drips on the almost black roots of the tree I lean against.

The wolf's eyes widen in anticipation of temporary death. The fur departs, my wounds redder and nastier without it. My fingers find it difficult to undo the tie on the medicine bag, almost cutting myself on my graceful but turning stubby nails.

I've had to use this before. Like most healing techniques, it works mysteriously and magically, as most believe. (Really...why can't they be mages?) Simply a white ointment that heals quickly.

The soft salve is cold, but once it hits the wildly contrasting scarlet-stained areas it warms, skin shimmering if the sunlight catches it right.

It takes a few days to be fully recovered from something of this scale, but the screams from camp echo in my ears. The howl of another. I cannot abandon Ellen after such a night, when her ordinary, kind veil is shredded by the gleams of murder.

The tree slowly lightens, sun stealing the pieces of night that remain.


End file.
